


A Scattering of Words

by notjustmom



Series: Doodahs and Whatnots [51]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Writer's Block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 07:24:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17862929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: Day 19: "And he lay on the cold floor of the study watching the wind stirring the pages, mixing the written and unwritten, the end among them.” ― Louise Glückoakbronze





	A Scattering of Words

**Author's Note:**

> No worries, it is Watson suffering from writer's block at the moment, not me... fortunately, or unfortunately depending how one sees it. ;)

Holmes looked down at the man who was stretched out on the weather beaten and stained floor, and studied him carefully. He was returned to the day of their meeting; he had carried the remains of the bronze of the Afghan sun, in his hair and on his cheeks, the suspicion in his eyes, and the awkward, uncomfortable stance as he tried not to show any weakness, even as he leaned heavily on his stick. He should have been convalescing still, but Holmes had correctly perceived that money or rather the lack of it was the reason he stood there, in search of cheaper lodgings. 

That was many years ago now, so many wounds and stories they had weathered since; yet, against all odds and reason, he was still here, a relic of a time that most were forgetting as they looked forward to a more modern world. He was a keeper of memory, it was only by his capable hand, and in his voice that they would be remembered.

He carefully knelt next to him, then slowly eased himself into nearly the same perspective as his friend and attempted to glean what was so fascinating about the crack in the ceiling that had been spreading for decades now.

"Watson?"

"Hmm?"

"What is it that has you in such an unusual relationship to our rooms?"

"An ending, Holmes."

Holmes was silent for a moment, then whispered, "an ending, Watson?"

"To the stories, you madman, the stories. One day soon, the stories will no longer be wanted, there will be some new fad or fashion that will replace them, and I am trying to find a suitable conclusion to the adventures, and the very notion has, I'm afraid, made my words dry up, quite completely."

Holmes sat up slowly and surveyed the room. If he had to come to a conclusion regarding the owner of the room, there was indeed, evidence of an upheaval of a sort. More of a natural disaster came to mind, as the sheets of paper usually neatly stacked on the sturdy oak desk, were now scattered, nearly covering the floor completely, and the desk itself was overturned. He couldn't recall the last time he had witnessed such an emotional outburst from his friend and partner, not since a time best left to memory and in the pages of the Strand. He ran his fingers through his hair, then began to pick up the papers, some had a few typewritten words, others a full half page before they had been rudely ripped from the machine that somehow had managed to survive any major damage -

"Stop."

"Watson."

"Leave them, Holmes. I cannot think anymore, the words are -"

Holmes was accustomed to being the one who needed gentle coaxing back to some sense of rationality, now it was his turn to return the favour. "Let us leave this until later, it is a beautiful spring day. Perhaps a bath, first, and a fresh set of clothing, then a cup of tea and a walk, preferably in that order, as the neighbors might take issue if we stroll unattired, and you know how you get without a cup of tea?"

"You are humouring me and my ill-temper."

"Yes."

Watson glanced up at his friend who was offering him a smile and his hand, and could only nod and take his arm. "My apologies, Holmes."

"None are necessary, my dear Watson. None at all."


End file.
